


Sink into the Inky Depths

by oulamort



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Tattoos, les mis tattoo week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1225639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oulamort/pseuds/oulamort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac has a thing for tattoos. He also has a thing for Combeferre. But he doesn't know that Combeferre has tattoos. </p>
<p>Written for Les Mis Tattoo Week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sink into the Inky Depths

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetad, so all mistakes within are mine. I had this idea in my head as soon as I heard about tattoo week, but it took me forever to actually get it done. 
> 
> Enjoy! Feel free to drop me a line over at my tumblr, revbutciv.tumblr.com.

“Alright, I think that just about wraps it up.” Enjolras finished, collecting his notes. “If anyone can stay after for a bit to help paint those signs, it would be much appreciated.”

As most of their friends filed out of the Musain, Courfeyrac walked up to Grantaire. “How can I help?” he asked, cheerily. 

Grantaire smiled back at him. “Can you come out to my car with me to help me carry paint? The poster board’s all in here, but I couldn’t carry everything earlier.” He set down his beer and grabbed his car keys. 

As they walked outside, Courfeyrac asked, “So, any progress with our fearless leader?”

Grantaire snorted. “No. Why do you think I’m here painting signs? I could be out living life.”

Courfeyrac just shot him a look. “By which you mean, being at home with a bottle of wine, sketching Enjolras.”

Grantaire unlocked his car and started handing Courfeyrac the paint out of the trunk. “You’re hardly one to talk. How’s Combeferre?” he asked, pointedly. 

Courfeyrac sighed. “Want to share that bottle of wine?” The two of them gathered the paint in their arms and headed back inside. “I’ll think he’s flirting and we’ll finally be getting somewhere, you know? But then he’ll go back to being all Combeferre-y and hard to read, and I just. I don’t know.” Grantaire opened the door to the back room as Courfeyrac walked in. “Sometimes I—“ 

But Courfeyrac was suddenly struck dumb at the sight that greeted them. In the time it had taken Grantaire and Courfeyrac to go outside and back, Combeferre had taken off his sweater vest and dress shirt. He was currently standing shirtless in the middle of the Musain’s back room. 

But that wasn’t what had made Courfeyrac stop in his tracks. What Courfeyrac had not known (and holy crap if only he had known, his fantasies could have been that much more detailed) was that Combeferre’s back, chest, and upper arms were covered in tattoos. From where he was standing, Courfeyrac could make out looping script curling around his right shoulder from his back. There was something that resembled a chemical compound on his back left shoulder, and more words on his back, accompanied by what looked like a small bird. 

Grantaire had been walking behind Courfeyrac and was now stuck in the hallway. “What the hell, Courf? Oh.” He squeezed past Courfeyrac and walked into the room. “Nice tattoos, Combeferre.” 

Combeferre smiled at him. “Thank you. I didn’t come prepared to paint today, and I’m rather fond of that shirt, so I thought I’d attempt to keep it paint-free.”

“No, that’s cool.” Grantaire set the armful of paint down on the table and started pouring some of it onto a piece of cardboard. “I honestly don’t know if I have any clothes left that don’t have paint on them. The life of an art major.” He glanced back towards the door and smirked. “You coming, Courfeyrac?”

Courfeyrac started at the sound of his name. When he realized that he had been staring at Combeferre the whole time, he blushed and quickly entered the room. He set the paint down on the table and joined Grantaire at the sign he had started. 

“He has tattoos. Did you know he had tattoos?” Courfeyrac hissed under his breath. 

“I knew he was thinking about getting one, but I didn’t know he had all those.” Grantaire replied. “He asked me about a year and a half ago if I knew of any good artists in town. I gave him the name of the guy I went to.”

Courfeyrac grabbed a paintbrush and started filling in the lines Grantaire had painted. “R,” he whined. “It’s not fair.”

“You’ll live. I promise.” Grantaire grimaced. “Just try to keep it in your pants until you get home, alright?”

“Very funny. Because you’ve never fantasized about Enjolras in the middle of a meeting.”

Grantaire just smiled. “No clue what you’re talking about.”

The next hour passed far too slowly for Courfeyrac’s liking. He tried to look at Combeferre’s tattoos without staring, but holy crap, was that difficult. Courfeyrac wasn’t sure what he liked the most about the excellent sight before him. But, whether it was the way Combeferre’s muscles moved as he painted or the ridiculously sexy dissonance between straight-laced, sweater vest-wearing Combeferre and this new, wonderful, tattooed Combeferre, Courfeyrac couldn’t say. 

Once the signs were painted, the room was cleaned up, and Combeferre’s shirt was back on (much to Courfeyrac’s chagrin), it was time to leave. As Enjolras and Grantaire carried the finished signs out to Grantaire’s car, Combeferre locked up behind them. 

“Can I walk you home?” he asked. 

“Hmm? Oh, um, sure.” Courfeyrac smiled, looking up from his phone. 

After saying goodbye to an already arguing Enjolras and Grantaire, Combeferre and Courfeyrac turned towards Courfeyrac’s apartment. 

“So…tattoos, huh?” Courfeyrac said, lightly. “I’ll be honest, I never pegged you as the type to have them.”

Combeferre smiled. “No one ever does. It’s funny, really. Though I do dislike the stigma that successful, intellectual people can’t have tattoos. It’s completely unfounded in any sort of fact.” He shifted his bag to the other shoulder. “Not to call myself successful or intellectual, but that certainly seems to be the class of people I am categorized with.”

“Oh, please.” Courfeyrac rolled his eyes. “You’re definitely intellectual, so hush. And I have no doubt that you will be wildly successful one day. You’ll be that professor whose class everyone wants to take, not only because the class is really good, but because they totally have a crush on you. You’re pretty much the epitome of the hot professor.” He sighed, dramatically. “And now you have tattoos, to boot. You make my life so hard.” 

“Your life, or something else?” Combeferre replied, quietly smirking. 

Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks. “I’m sorry, what was that?” his voice about an octave higher than normal. 

“If I confess to having an ulterior motive today, would you hate me?” Combeferre ran a hand through his hair awkwardly. “I didn’t take my shirt off today because I like it. I actually hate this shirt. I overheard you talking to R last week about how much you liked tattoos. I didn’t have a better plan than find a situation to be shirtless around you.” He looked down at Courfeyrac, who was still standing there, eyes wide. “In retrospect, I probably should have thought it through a little more—“ 

And then suddenly Courfeyrac’s lips were on his own. “You’re evil.” Courfeyrac said, when he finally broke away. “You’re evil, and I hate you.” He grabbed Combeferre’s hand in his own and started dragging him down the street. 

“Where are we going?” Combeferre asked, following obediently. 

“Home.” Courfeyrac answered. “Because I need to examine those tattoos much more carefully. With my tongue.” 

Combeferre smiled and let himself get dragged home.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's what I had in my head for Combeferre's tattoos when I was writing:
> 
> Right Shoulder and Arm: Nelson Mandela quote, "Education is the most powerful weapon which you can use to change the world."
> 
> Left Shoulder: Caffeine molecule
> 
> Over his heart: egalité
> 
> Left Arm: cockade
> 
> Right side of chest: DNA helix
> 
> Back: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," with a small eagle.


End file.
